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BUMPER AND BABY JOHN 














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Frontispiece. 

“ HIS HEAD HELD HIGH IN THE AIR HE TRUDGED AWAY” 


// 



Bumper # Baby John 


ANNA 


Illustrations 


BY 

CHAPIN RAY 


by Curtis Wager -Smith 



PHILADELPHIA 

HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

NOV 8 1904 


Copyrignt tntry 



Copyright, 1904, 

By Henry Altemus. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


“ His head held high in the air ... he 
trudged away ” . . . Frontispiece 

“ Turned the collar until the worn plate was 

uppermost ” 19 

“ Bumper’s teeth shut firmly on the frock ” . 47 
“ Beside a pink calico bundle, Bumper halted 

his captive ” 59 

“At the sight of Mr. Ainsworth, the shrieks 

ceased ” 71 

“ ‘ Is he likely to go to sleep up there?’ he 

inquired ” 97 

“ Bumper felt himself a puppy again ” . . 125 

“‘Baby John! Oh, Baby John, come to 
mamma!”’ 137 

vii 


















































































































* 


BUMPER AND BABY JOHN 


CHAPTER ONE 

E VEN the fond eye of a lover 
must have discerned that Baby 
John had red hair and freckles. In 
Baby John’s eyes, Bumper was al- 
together lovely. In the eyes of a dog- 
fancier, he was merely a great spotty- 
brown animal with frayed ears and a 
fat and stumpy tail. For the rest, 
Bumper and Baby John were exceed- 
ingly good friends, and their aggre- 
gate age was seven years. 

Loyal to the traditions of his red 
hair, Baby John was something of a 
tyrant, and he took it seriously amiss 
when Bumper rose up, a piece of him- 
self at a time, after the fashion of 
11 


Bumper and Baby John 


stout dogs, stretched himself, gave a 
vast yawn and then trudged across 
the room in the direction of the open 
door. 

“ Turn back! ” Baby John ordered 
imperiously. 

Bumper halted long enough to 
draw several horizontal lines in the 
air with his tail. Then he resumed 
his march. 

“ Bumper, turn here! ” Baby 
John’s accent was commanding, yet 
plaintive. 

Bumper was trained to obedience ; 
nevertheless, it was the plaintive note 
that stopped him. He cocked up his 
shabby ears and drew more lines with 
his tail, while he looked backward 
over his shoulder. Then, as his brown 
eyes moved about the room, bare save 
for a dozen wooden boxes, a table and 
the debris of a dismembered bedstead, 
his tail drooped. This was the first 
12 


Bumper and Baby John 


time that Bumper had experienced 
the woes of moving-day, and he was 
finding it a period of discomfort and 
homesickness. Bumper was domes- 
tic in all his habits, and he pined for 
his own yellow water bowl, and for 
his rug made from a tattered breadth 
of rag carpet. The roar and jounce 
of the train was still upon him, his 
house was desolate and he wanted to 
go out into the clean morning air and 
feel the tall, cool grass rustle along 
his hairy sides. The tail wagged 
once more, this time in apology. Then 
Bumper crossed the threshold. 

“Ahh— yalih— ooo— anghh— yah! ” 

There was no plaintive note in the 
lusty howl that came pealing out from 
Baby John’s larynx. His vocal cords 
were of good material and toughened 
from much exercise. It was impos- 
sible for Bumper to pretend not to 
hear. Even his dog brain was able to 
13 


Bumper and Baby John 


reason up to that point. He wagged 
his tail in comprehension; but he 
quickened his pace. 

With a second roar, Baby John 
started to run after; but he choked 
himself with his own shriek, and 
while his attention was diverted by 
the effort to catch breath, he stubbed 
his toe against a projecting board, 
tottered and fell headlong to the floor 
where he lay, a woful bundle of pink 
calico, wailing like a siren and beat- 
ing the floor with his feet in token of 
desperation. 

Bumper listened to the changed 
note, snuffed the morning air and then 
reluctantly turned about and went in 
at the open door. The elastic paws 
made no sound on the bare boards, 
and Baby John’s surprise caused him 
to bite off his wail in the middle, when 
a cold nose and a moist, soft tongue 
descended upon the hollow of his ear. 

14 


Bumper and Baby John. 

Then one pink calico arm went around 
the- thick brown neck and, cheek to 
cheek, the friends made their peace. 

“ Hullo, old man! Where did you 
come from? ” 

The ringing boy voice was attrac- 
tive, and Bumper slowly emerged 
from the thicket of ferns. Mud was 
upon his paws and a sense of guilt 
was upon his conscience. More than 
an hour before, the gurgling snores 
of Baby John had assured him tfeai 
the time was ripe for his escape. 
With a dexterity born of similar 
scenes, he had gently wormed his way 
out of the pink calico embrace and 
sneaked away on the tips of his paws. 
Since then, he had hunted a squirrel 
through and through a delightful bog, 
but not even the joy of feeling the 
cool, soft mud oozing between his 
toes could quite restore his wonted 
perkiness. Bumper had a conscience 
15 


Bumper and Baby John 


of his own, and now he found 
it good to have the workings of that 
conscience disturbed by the boyish 
greeting. He came a foot or two 
nearer. 

The boy, sitting on a rock and un- 
jointing a trouting rod, surveyed him 
with merry eyes. 

“ Well, I must say you aren’t a 
beauty,” he observed at length. 

His tone, indolent, yet friendly, be- 
lied his words. Bumper came a step 
closer, sat down on his haunches and 
thrashed the ground with his tail. 

The boy let go his rod and held out 
his hand invitingly. 

“ Good dog! ” he said. 

Instantly Bumper reared himself 
upright, steadying himself with one 
waving forepaw while, with a swift 
sweep, the other paw landed on the 
light gray sleeve before him. 

“ Oh, by J ove, you beast ! ” 

16 


Bumper and Baby John 


Bumper toppled over abruptly, and 
the boy fell to scraping off the thick- 
est of the mud. When his sleeve be- 
gan to show light gray again, he 
looked around at the dog. 

“ That’s all right, old fellow. You 
needn’t look so glum about it. Your 
manners were all right, only it’s 
a good scheme to wash your hands 
before you wipe them. Where did 
you come from, anyway? ” 

At the inviting chirrup, Bumper 
thrashed the ground till the pine 
needles flew like chaff from a flail. 
Nevertheless, he realized that his first 
overtures had not been received with 
enthusiasm, and he refused to budge 
from his place. 

‘ ‘ Come here, sir ! Come ! I want 
to see whet’s on your collar.” 

With unchanged solemnity, Bum- 
per came alongside and sat himself 
down with his back braced against the 
17 


Bumper and Baby John 


boy’s knee, while his new friend 
gently turned the collar until the worn 
plate was uppermost. 

“ ‘Number one hundred and sev- 
enty-three he read. “ ‘Bumper ’. 
What a name! Is it you, or your 
master? ” 

Again Bumper’s tail battered the 
ground, and the boy laughed. 


“ It’s you, sure enough. It’s not 
such a bad name for you, either. 


! W ell, Bumper boy, where did y ou hail 
from? I thought I knew every dog 
I in the region; but I’ll be hanged if I 
ever saw you before. You aren’t a 
type of beauty that one forgets, you 


see. 


Bumper shrugged his shoulders 
and yawned broadly, not with any dis- 
courteous intent, but merely in token 
that he failed to understand. The 
word 'beauty held no place in his vo- 
cabulary. 


18 








. 





















































< 


I 






















Bumper and Baby John 


There was an interval of silence, 
while the boy struggled with an ob- 
stinate joint of his rod. Bumper ap- 
peared to be waiting some further 
conversation, for he leaned more and 
more heavily against the boy’s knee, 
and glanced up expectantly now and 
then. At length he abandoned the 
idea of winning more attention. He 
scratched his ear vaguely, found the 
sensation altogether pleasing and de- 
termined to follow it up. With this 
in mind, he moved a little to one side 
and seated himself with clumsy de- 
liberation exactly on top of the basket 
of fish. 

“ Oh, confound you! ” 

At the tone, Bumper dodged to 
avoid the blow which might follow; 
but no blow came. The boy’s eyes 
were wrathful, but his lips were 
laughing, as he sprang forward to res- 
cue his scattered trophies. Bumper 
21 


Bumper and Baby John 


gulped down the nearest fish ; then he 
turned with penitent, mournful eyes 
and drooping jaw, and peered up into 
the face of his companion. 

“ Sorry, old man ? Well, you ought 
to be, for you’ve bolted the biggest 
one of them all, and I wanted to show 
it to Uncle Larry. You’re a clumsy 
brute, anyhow. Why don’t you go 
home? ” 

The tone was merry and altogether 
winning, and under its influence 
Bumper’s eyes were lighting, his ears 
lifting. At the last words, however, 
something, some sudden memory of 
Baby John, perhaps, crossed his 
mind, and the tail stopped itself in 
mid-wag. 

“ Oh, go home! Where’s Massa? 
Go find Massa! ” 

With a portentous sigh, Bumper 
rose, came forward and deposited his 
thick body across the boy’s feet. The 
■ 22 


Bumper and Baby John 


boy’s lip curled; but, in spite of him- 
self, he bent down to stroke the 
broad, blunt head. 

“I’m not your master, you mon- 
grel. I wouldn’t have a dog like you 
on my hands. And yet, you’re a 
good fellow. Don’t whine about it. 
Sit up like a man, and be friends. 
There, shake hands. Now I’m going 
home. Good by, Bumper ! No ; don’t 
you dare to follow me. I wouldn’t 
take you as a gift.” 

With one last pat, he rose, picked 
up rod and basket and went striding 
away, as alert and contented and 
comely a boy as ever outgrew his 
knickerbockers. It was no unusual 
thing for young Lawrance Stephen- 
son to make friends with strangers, 
dog as well as human. The episode 
was familiar, and it was ended. The 
boy went his way with scarcely a 
backward thought, still less a back- 
23 


Bumper and Baby John 


ward glance. If he had looked back, 
he would have seen Bumper’s tattered 
ears raise inquiringly, Bumper’s 
broad, kindly, wistful face gazing 
after him, Bumper’s left forefoot held 
up irresolutely. The boy vanished 
among the trees. Bumper waited for 
a moment longer. Then, nose to the 
earth, on elastic, noiseless feet he 
v T ent trotting away on the trail of his 
new friend. 

A man who, to Bumper’s unaccus- 
tomed eyes, looked all iron-gray hair 
and spectacles, saw them coming and 
hailed them from the veranda. 

“ Where did you get your poodle, 
Lawu-ance?” 

The boy glanced over his shoulder. 
His laugh was prompt ; but it was as 
promptly checked. 

“ I ordered him sent up here for 
you, Uncle Larry,” he responded 
gravely. 


24 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ Thank you. You’d better send 
him back. I can’t afford to keep so 
many kinds of dog.” 

Lawrance came forward with a 
leisurely step, and seated himself on 
the edge of the veranda. 

“ I’d advise you to take him, Uncle 
Larry. He’s a whole condensed dog- 
show: great Dane, Mexican hairless 
and all. It isn’t often you get a 
chance to sample so many breeds.” 

Lowering his head, Mr. Lawrance 
Ainsworth surveyed Bumper over the 
top of his spectacles. 

“ Where did you accumulate the 
beast, Lawrance'?” 

The boy laughed carelessly. He 
was in no wise afraid of his uncle, who 
was considered by all the country 
neighbors the sternest man in the 
township. 

“ He accumulated me ? Uncle Larry. 
He fell in love with me at first sight. 

25 


Bumper and Baby John 

Then he fell in love with my largest 
trout and proceeded to accumulate 
that, too. There isn’t another here 
to compare with it, and I was bring- 
ing it home to show it off for the best 
catch of the season.” 

“And what has become of it?” 

‘ ‘ Ask Bumper. Pretty name ; isn ’t 
it ? But he bolted it, before my face 
and eyes.” 

Mr. Ainsworth’s shrewd eyes twin- 
kled. 

“It’s a new form of fish story, 
Lawrance. You will have to produce 
your fish, before I believe in its size. 
A sportsman takes nothing on trust.” 

“ Neither does Bumper,” the boy 
said ruefully. 

“ Bumper? ” 

The accent was of question, not 
of greeting. However, Bumper put 
his own interpretation upon the use 
of his name. Deliberately he clam- 
26 


Bumper and Baby John. 


bered up the steps, crossed the veran- 
da, laid his nose and one muddy fore- 
foot upon the spotless white duck 
knee of Mr. Ainsworth and stared 
up at him with trusting brown eyes. 
Mr. Lawrance Ainsworth, aristo- 
crat and retired banker, was by no 
means soft of heart. Nevertheless, 
case-hardened though he might be, he 
never failed to yield to two influences, 
to his nephew and namesake, Law- 
rance Stephenson, and to the friendly 
eyes of a dog, whether those eyes 
looked out at him from the head of 
thoroughbred or mongrel. In his 
younger days, Mr. Ainsworth had 
owned many a noted dog. His very 
familiarity with thoroughbred stock 
only rendered him the quicker to rec- 
ognize the noble traits which showed 
themselves now and again in dogs of 
ignoble ancestry. Regardless of the 
brown stains on his knee, he looked 
27 


Bumper and Baby John 


down into Bumper’s honest eyes and 
knew that he was a dog to be trusted. 
He patted the great, uncouth head, 
permitted a caressing sweep of the 
tongue across his knuckles, and then 
gently pushed aside the heavy paw. 

“ That’s all, sir. Now go home.” 

He spoke with the accent of one ac- 
customed to be obeyed, and Bumper 
reluctantly yielded to his bidding. 
At the steps, Lawrance caught the 
broad muzzle in his hands. 

“ Good by, old man. Don’t worry 
about the fish. Most likely it will 
give you indigestion, anyhow. You’re 
an old sinner; but I rather like you. 
Call again.” And he went inside the 
house to forage the pantry, without 
in the least suspecting how promptly 
his invitation would be accepted. 

From the open doorway, Baby J ohn 
spied Bumper from afar, and hailed 
him gleefully. The time had dragged 
28 


Bumper and Baby John 


heavily for Baby John, since he had 
awakened to find himself deserted. 
Playthings were scarce in his life, and 
Bumper had been the chief of them 
all. Now Bumper was missing, and 
the other toys, packed in an empty 
coal-hod, were on the platform of the 
station, four miles away. In his old 
home, on the upper edge of Greater 
New York, there had been things to 
see and noises in the street. Here 
there was nothing but grass and trees 
and an occasional bird-note, and Baby 
John, self-reliant as he w r as, neverthe- 
less felt himself aggrieved. He had 
even started out in pursuit of Bum- 
per; but he had capsized on his way 
down the steps. By the time he was 
right side up once more, his zeal for 
exploration had left him, and he was 
content to mount the steps again, on 
all fours and with long pauses at 
every step. 


29 


Bumper and Baby John 


If human speech had been given to 
Bumper, he would still have been reti- 
cent. He never felt the need of ex- 
plaining where he had been, during 
his occasional absences from home. 
Now he came jogging into the house 
as demurely as if he had left it only 
a moment before. Baby John fell 
upon him with a chuckle and a crow, 
gripped his burly neck with arms so 
short that they barely met on top, and 
buried his freckled little face in the 
thick rolls of skin on Bumper’s 
breast. Bumper ’s coat was of bristles, 
sharp and harsh ; but Baby J ohn’s joy 
in the returned prodigal could survive 
many a pricking. He snuggled the 
dog’s head against his pink calico 
bosom ; then, casting sentiment to the 
winds, he lifted up his voice in a lusty 
demand for a game of hide and seek. 


CHAPTER TWO 


F ATHER JOHN’S face was anx- 
ious, the next morning, as he 
entered the little house. 

“ Haven’t the things come yet? ” 
he asked, as he took Baby John on 
his knee. 

Baby John, still breakfasting on 
bread and molasses, lifted a sticky 
countenance. 

“ Kiss,” he demanded. 

Obediently the clean little Scotch- 
man put his lips on the least adhesive 
spot to be found on the freckled little 
face. Then the young autocrat spoke 
again. 

“ Kiss Bumper,” he ordered. 
Father John was too well ac- 
quainted with his son’s firmness of 
31 


Bumper and Baby John 


character to rebel. Moreover, just 
at present Bumper was by far the 
more kissable one of the two. His af- 
fectionate duty done, Father John 
once more turned to his wife. 

u We must have them, to-day, 
Wife.” 

Wife nodded. The bed had been 
set up, the night before, and the 
dozen wooden boxes had been un- 
packed. However, a shawl mattress 
and an overcoat coverlet do not en- 
sure a comfortable night, and the sup- 
per and breakfast materials to be 
bought, ready cooked, at a country 
store are not always toothsome. Baby 
John, tucked up in the largest box, 
had slept like a weasel; and, to his 
mind, slabs of bread and molasses 
were far better than turkey with 
oyster stuffing. Of the four, he was 
the only one to hail the new day with 
anything like enthusiasm. Even 
32 


Bumper and Baby John 


Bumper’s courage failed at sight of 
this homeless home. 

Wife spoke wearily. 

“ We can’t spend another night 
like last night. It’s out of the ques- 
tion. We must have our furniture, 
to-day.” 

“ How? ” 

44 Where is the man you engaged to 
bring it up? ” 

44 He—” Father John faltered and 
his head dropped, as he told his bad 
news. 4 4 He can ’t bring it. ’ ’ 

“ Why not?” 

44 He’s got a job to do some hay- 
ing.” 

44 How do you know? ” 

44 He just sent me word by another 
fellow.” 

44 Can’t the other fellow do it? ” 
she asked hopefully. 

Father John shook his head. 

44 No horse but the crazy little 
33 


Bumper and Baby John 


colt be was driving,’ ’ be answered. 

There was a pause, while Wife shut 
her teeth and summoned her Scotch 
courage to her aid. 

“ What shall we do ? ” Father J ohn 
asked helplessly. 

Wife clinched her teeth for an in- 
stant. The helplessness irritated her, 
yet it was excusable. It came from 
the ill health which had driven her 
husband out of city work and had 
forced him to buy a farm in this 
country of leisure and fresh air. In 
the strictest sense of the word, they 
were not poor. They always had 
been able to pay their debts, and Fa- 
ther John’s trousers, though darned, 
had never quite come to patches. 
They were never able to get much 
ahead of that, however, and years of 
careful scrimping had barely sufficed 
to buy the four-acre farm and the five- 
room house in a valley of the Ver- 
34 


Bumper and Baby John 


mont hills. Wife’s whole love was 
for the paved streets; nevertheless, 
health was the first consideration, 
and she heroically turned her face 
towards this wilderness where mov- 
ing-vans were not and where one’s 
household goods might lie in the 
freight-station until the crack of 
doom. 

The pause was short. It lasted 
only long enough for Wife’s mind to 
journey to New York and back again. 
Then she spoke quietly. 

“ I think we’d better go down to 
the station and try to hire somebody 
else.” 

“ But you can’t go.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ It is too far for you to walk.” 

She laughed at the notion. 

“ Think of the way I used to walk, 
in town! It won’t hurt me at all, 
and we can ride up on the load. ” 

3 35 


Bumper and Baby John 

“ What about Baby John? ” 

At his name, Baby John leaped 
abruptly into the conversation. 

“Pop! Da-da! D’ink! ” he ob- 
served. 

The drink promptly was forthcom- 
ing. It tasted rather too strongly of 
sulphur, for Baby John’s tin cup had 
been used to cover the matches for 
safekeeping. However, Baby John 
was no epicure, and he drained the 
cup to the dregs, shutting his scanty 
supply of teeth on the rim and hold- 
ing his breath until his face was pur- 
ple. Then he let go with his teeth 
and raised his head. 

“ Bumper, d’ink! ” he commanded. 

“ What shall we do with him? ” 
Father John repeated. 

Once more Wife shut her teeth. To 
her mind, this wilderness was fully 
capable of containing Indians and 
panthers, with a bison or two for 
36 


Bumper and Baby John 


good measure. Then she answered 
cheerily,— 

4 4 What we always have done. 
Leave him with Bumper.” 

44 Lock him up in the house? ” 

She hesitated. 

44 No; not here. Bumper wouldn’t 
let anything come in, and I should feel 
safer if he could get out. Something 
might come prowling, and Bumper 
could drive it away.” 

44 Safer to shut him up.” 

Wife shook her head. 

44 If you say so; but I think it is 
better to leave the house open.” 

44 He might run away.” 

She bent over to stroke the dog’s 
head. 

44 Bumper would bring him back.” 

44 Bui he will be hungry,” Father 
John objected suddenly. 

44 Not very early, after such a break- 
fast, and I’ll leave some bread where 
37 


Bumper and Baby John 


he can get it. It won’t be so very late, 
when we come back. We’ll find some- 
body. The village is so small that it 
won’t take long to hunt the place over, 
and we’ll be back by the middle of the 
afternoon.” There was a pause, 
while her courage wavered. Then she 
added a little wishfully, “ It’s the best 
thing we can do, John, and the only 
one.” 

Side by side in the window, Bum- 
per and Baby John watched them go. 
They were quite accustomed to being 
left by themselves, for, regularly as 
the sun arose, Father John and his 
brown pasteboard dinner-box had 
gone to work and, at least three times 
a week, Wife had followed close on 
his heels, for she was an expert laun- 
dress and her services had been much 
in demand. 

The two comrades knew by heart 
the routine which heralded her going : 
38 


Bumper and Baby John 


the stir of preparation, the iterated 
commands of “ Baby John, be a good 
boy,” and “ Bumper, take great, 
great care of Baby Jolin,’^ the shut- 
ting of the door and then the scrabble 
to the window to look after the erect 
little figure, trim in spite of its shab- 
biness. On such occasions, Bumper’s 
serious eyes were heavy with a sense 
of responsibility; but Baby John was 
as gay and care-free as ever. 

Father John and Wife vanished 
around a bend in the road. Bumper 
leaped down from the box by the win- 
dow, and Baby John clambered down 
after him. There was a brief inter- 
val of quiet, and then proceedings be- 
gan. 

For the most part, they were silent 
proceedings. Neither Baby J ohn nor 
Bumper were given to wasting words, 
and only an occasional crowing laugh 
or a feigned growl broke the silence. 
* 39 


Bumper and Baby John 

The silence, however, was by no means 
stillness. There were sounds of pat- 
tering feet and pounding paws, of two 
fat, soft bodies rolling over and over 
on the floor, of snufflings and breath- 
less gurglings, of the rattling of the 
stiff brown paper with which Baby 
J ohn was vainly trying to crown the 
benign head of his companion. Bum- 
per was ail things in succession, from 
choo-choo cars to a pussycat, and he 
submitted amicably to all of Baby 
John’s demands. Once only he re- 
belled and, with a deep-throated 
snarl, he shut his mouth over the pink 
forefinger with which Baby John was 
investigating the mechanism of his 
eyelids. For the space of a full min- 
ute, he held his jaws fixed. Then 
slowly he opened them, drew back his 
head from the unscathed finger and 
completely ruined the moral effect of 
his rebuke by drawing his long, 
40 


Bumper and Baby John 


damp tongue across Baby John’s 
cheeks and nose. Babies, according 
to Bumper’s theory, were made to be 
caressed, not corrected. 

Slowly the plays lost their charm, 
and Baby John subsided, a limp pink 
bundle of drowsiness, with his red 
head pillowed on Bumper’s side. 
Bumper, stretched out at full length 
on the floor, raised his head to snuff 
at his burden, then, with a deep sigh 
and an indolent thump of his burly 
tail, he dropped his head again and 
wandered off into dreamland. 

The day was still young when, an 
hour later, Baby John waked and sat 
up, eager for the fray. One pink fist 
was still in his eyes, when he caught 
sight of the bread, laid ready for him 
on the tallest of the boxes. Bolling 
over on his stomach, he slowly pried 
himself erect, trudged across the 
room to seize the bread and fell to 
41 


Bumper and Baby John 


munching it contentedly. Then a 
frown crossed his crumby face, and 
he lifted up his voice. 

“ D’ink,” he demanded. 

There was no answer, and he re- 
peated his demand even more impe- 
riously. 

“ D’ink.” 

Bumper roused himself from his 
dream and came slouching forward. 
Anxiety and perplexity were in his 
eyes, for he knew that something was 
wrong, and he had no idea what he 
ought to do about it. He sat himself 
down facing Baby J ohn and awaited 
his commands. 

“ D’ink! ” Baby John ordered, for 
the third time. 

Still nothing happened, and Baby 
John’s lip rolled over. Suddenly his 
eyes rested on a tin cup, his own 
tin cup, which had been dried 
and put back over the little pile 
42 


Bumper and Baby John 


of matches on the table. A box stood 
beside the table and, with infinite dif- 
ficulty and much stretching, Baby 
John contrived to reach the handle of 
the cup and drag it towards him, 
quite regardless of the matches which 
scattered themselves along the floor. 
The next minute, he was refreshing 
his thirsty throat with water dipped 
from Bumper’s dish on the floor in 
the corner. 

Then once more Baby John pro- 
ceeded to enjoy himself. He and 
Bumper played tag, and Bumper was 
always IT. He and Bumper played 
horse, and Bumper was always the 
horse. He and Bumper did roly- 
poly tricks on the floor, and Bumper 
was never the one to be on top. Baby 
John crowed and giggled and issued 
stern commands, and even Bumper’s 
grave eyes lighted, as he set himself 
to obey. So absorbed were they both 
43 


Bumper and Baby John 


that they never noticed the curious 
crackling sound which rose from the 
scattered heap of matches crushed by 
Baby John’s energetic little heel. 
Suddenly Baby John turned his head. 

“Pitty,” he observed, while he 
pointed to the yellow tongue licking 
along the edge of Bumper’s paper 
crown. 

Bumper, occupied in the search for 
a flea, paid no heed. 

“ Pitty! ’’Baby John reiterated, as 
the paper turned to a black, crumpled 
cinder, and the tongue mounted to the 
excelsior hanging over the edge of a 
box near by. 

The box was blazing merrily, and 
two more boxes were smoking before 
Bumper realized that something was 
amiss. The yellow tongues of flame 
were rising to the level of the table- 
top, and Baby John was prancing 
about enthusiastically, with his pink 
44 ‘ 


Bumper and Baby John 


calico frock unduly close to the blaze. 

“ Pa-pa-pa-pa-pap! Pitty! See!” 
he shrieked with rapture. “ Oh-h-h! 
Pitty! ” 

Gently, but firmly, Bumper’s teeth 
shut on the tail of the pink frock, and 
Baby John slid backwards and sat 
down abruptly. Behind him, Bumper 
sat down, too, and together the two 
comrades silently inspected the con- 
flagration. 

By the time the table caught fire, 
the room was uncomfortably full of 
smoke, and Bumper realized that it 
was time for him to be up and doing. 
Leaving Baby John choking on the 
floor, he started up, rushed to the door 
and battered the panels with all the 
strength of his paws. Once he 
stopped to sniff and to apply his ear to 
the crack; then he renewed his as- 
sault, but the locked door held firm 
and no help was near. Baby John 
45 


Bumper and Baby John 


was sobbing forlornly now, and the 
biting smoke was bringing the tears 
to Bumper’s eyes. He gave a pro- 
longed howl, started to howl again, 
but barked instead; then, springing 
to the box, he leaped madly against 
the window. Both glass and casing 
yielded to his weight, and, in an in- 
stant, Bumper was safe on the ground 
outside. 

Dazed by the rush of fresh air into 
his lungs, he stood motionless for a 
moment. Then slowly he fell to lick- 
ing the one little cut on his paw. Sud- 
denly he raised his head, and the life 
came back into his eyes. From in- 
side the house came a little choking 
cry, faint, yet laden with a meaning 
which he was not slow to grasp. 

4 ‘ Bumper ! Turn back, Bumper ! ’ ’ 

The smoke was rolling out of the 
window in a heavy gray cloud; but 
Bumper never hesitated. His aim 
46 






Bumper and Baby Jolin 

was unerring, bis spring a powerful 
one. The cry was scarcely stilled, 
when Bumper’s tail vanished in the 
heavy cloud of smoke. He was gone 
only for a moment. When he reap- 
peared, there dangled from his pow- 
erful jaws a squirming bundle of pink 
calico whence issued a succession of 
terrified, indignant shrieks. 

Outside the smoke, Bumper laid 
down his burden, while he meditated 
for a space. Baby John became rest- 
less and started to crawl oft on a voy- 
age of discovery; but Bumper’s nose 
rolled him over on his back, Bum- 
per’s paw planted itself softly, but 
steadily on his chest, and Baby John 
yielded to the inevitable and lay still, 
blinking up at the sunshine. 

It is impossible to analyze the rea- 
soning that went on in Bumper’s 
brain. Dog thoughts, clear as they 
are at times, are by no means the 
49 


Bumper and Baby John 


thoughts of a human being. Never- 
theless, it is fair to assume that the 
thoughts of Bumper moved from this 
homeless home, now no longer inhab- 
itable, to that cool, shady veranda 
where, only the day before, he had 
been petted and treated like a gentle- 
man of sorts. With a dexterous sweep 
of his paw, he turned Baby John over 
like a pancake, and took a good grip 
of the clothing in the region of the 
belt. Then, with his head held high 
in the air to prevent his burden from 
dragging in the dust, he trudged away 
in the direction whence he had come, 
the day before, and vanished from 
sight just as, from exactly the oppo- 
site direction, there arose the clamor- 
ous cry of “ Firel” 


50 


CHAPTER THREE 


J OGGING along the country road 
at Yellow Dobbin’s heels, that 
noon, Lawrance Stephenson was 
absently flicking with his whip at the 
tall weeds by the roadside. Suddenly 
he raised his eyes. 

“ What’s the smoke? ” he de- 
manded. 

His uncle, deep in planning an itin- 
erary which could include a round 
dozen of housekeeping errands, the 
inspection of a possible new horse and 
the sale of an incubator, roused him- 
self at the question. 

“ What’s what ? ” he inquired, true 
to his Yankee blood. 

“ What’s that smoke down in the 
hollow?” young Lawrance asked, 
4 51 


Bumper and Baby John 


waving bis whip in the direction of 
the thin blue cloud that hung over the 
distant tree-tops. 

“ Cleaning up, and burning brush 
probably,” Mr. Ainsworth suggested 
idly. 

“ It’s a good-sized bonfire, Uncle 
Larry,” the boy objected. 

“ Very likely it is a good-sized 
brush-heap,” his uncle retorted. 
“ There’s nothing else down there to 
burn.” 

“ No houses?” 

“ I never saw any,” Mr. Ainsworth 
asserted with perfect truthfulness, in- 
asmuch as his wanderings had never 
led him into the by-road which led 
through the hollow. 4 4 Suppose you 
ask Dobbin to move on, Lawrance. 
We’ve a twenty-mile circle ahead of 
us, to say nothing of Halker’s baking- 
powder and nutmegs. Don ’t ever try 
to set up housekeeping in the wilder- 
52 


Bumper and Baby John 


ness, boy ; it is worse than adopting an 
orphan asylum.” 

“ Then what made you do it, Uncle 
Larry'?” the boy asked fearlessly. 

The stern eyes beside him clouded. 

“ Loneliness and utter idiocy,” was 
the short answer. 

It was now three years since Mr. 
Lawrance Ainsworth had suddenly 
retired from the world to that por- 
tion of the wilderness known as Riv- 
erdale Farm. None of his city friends 
had quite understood the change 
which had taken place in him since 
the death of his young wife. He had 
made no outward sign of mourning; 
he rarely mentioned her ; he even had 
sold the house where their married 
life had been spent, and had moved 
into a bachelor apartment farther 
down town. Little by little the lines 
in his face grew more rigid, his speech 
more terse, his manner more curt and 
53 


Bumper and Baby John 


abrupt. Then, one day, the many 
friends who were still loyal to him re- 
ceived a sudden shock. It was ab- 
ruptly announced that Lawrance 
Ainsworth had sold out his share in 
the business, had made a will settling 
all his large property upon his 
nephew and namesake, Lawrance Ste- 
phenson, and had betaken himself to 
a farm in the Vermont hills where he 
proposed to live by himself and raise 
Jersey cows. It was not announced, 
however, that he had chosen for 
housekeeper the woman who had been 
the old nurse of his wife. Neither 
was it announced that, within a year, 
he was to fall under a domestic tyran- 
ny which was as inconvenient and ex- 
asperating to a man of his habits as 
it was practical and wholesome. 

Stern of face and voice, he was 
feared by all his neighbors, and ac- 
cordingly for the most part he lived 
54 


Bumper and Baby John 


alone, dividing his time between his 
farm, his account books and his 
library. Once a year, however, the 
quiet house awakened into life and, 
for the space of two full months, 
young Lawrance clattered and whis- 
tled in the halls, foraged in the pan- 
try, cleaned fish in the kitchen and 
ruled all things from Mrs. Halker to 
Yellow Bobbin. While those two 
months lasted, Mr. Ainsworth was a 
different man. When they were 
ended, he lived on the memory of 
them, until the next summer brought 
them around again. 

Late in the sunshiny afternoon, 
Yellow Dobbin came jogging home, 
the reins on his back. Behind his 
heels, the trap was stuffed with all 
manner of bundles, and the back seat 
was open for the accommodation of 
the new wash-boiler of which Mrs. Hal- 
ker had shrilly reminded them, just 
55 


Bumper and Baby John 


as they were setting forth. Mr. Ains- 
worth ’s brows were clouded, for he 
had a shrewd suspicion that he had 
been cajoled into buying a spavined 
horse; but Lawrance, lolling back in 
his seat and humming a student song, 
was supremely content. Three pounds 
of maple fudge and a new book were 
among the parcels under his feet, and 
nothing now but a rainy day was 
needed to complete his satisfaction. 
The inevitable misgivings would not 
arise until later. 

As Yellow Dobbin turned in at the 
maple-bordered drive, a great brown 
form rose from the front steps and 
came slowly forward to welcome 
them. 

“ Bumper, old man! Where did 
you come from? ” 

The voice was hospitable ; neverthe- 
less, there was something deprecating 
in the wag of the burly tail. 

56 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ What are you doing here 9” Mr. 
Ainsworth asked a little sharply. 

The shabby ears drooped, and the 
tail wagged more and more slowly. 

“ Lawrance, what are we going to 
do with that dog ? We can ’t have him 
stop here,” Mr. Ainsworth asked tes- 
tily, as he prepared to dismount. 

Bumper stood back and waited re- 
spectfully until Mr. Ainsworth’s feet 
were on the gravel walk. Then he 
stepped forward and shut his teeth on 
a corner of Mr. Ainsworth’s light 
overcoat. 

“ Get out! Let go!” 

Bumper turned the whites of his 
eyes upward, not humorously, but 
with steady determination. The mus- 
cles of his jaws never relaxed. 

Mr. Ainsworth tried to pull his coat 
free, and Bumper responded with a 
low growl. 

“ Better let him work, Uncle Lar- 

57 


Bumper and Baby John 


ry?” his nephew advised. “ He has 
something or other in his head. ’ ’ 

“ He also has something in his 
mouth, and that something happens to 
be my new coat,” Mr. Ainsworth an- 
swered irately. 

“ Yes; but he’ll let you go, as soon 
as he is through with you. Wait and 
see what he wants.” 

Mr. Ainsworth yielded, less to the 
advice of his nephew than to stern ne- 
cessity. An unwilling victim, he ad- 
vanced, a stiff pace at a time, to the 
front steps, went up them stiffly and 
along the veranda to a corner where 
the shadow lay deepest. Beside a pink 
calico bundle, Bumper halted his cap- 
tive, let go his hold, backed off a step 
and raised his shabby ears. 

“ Wow-ow-ow!” he explained de- 
lightedly. 

Mr. Ainsworth bent over and 
peered into the shadow. Then he put 
58 































\ 


a 
















/ 












* 






















I 












































































# 


/ 





































Bumper and Baby John 


on his spectacles and peered again. 
Then, with his eyes almost popping 
from their sockets, he turned himself 
about and addressed his nephew. 

“ Lawrance Ainsworth Stephen- 
son, here ’s a-a-a great big baby ! ’ ’ 

‘ 4 What ? ’ ’ Lawrance ’s tone bristled 
with exclamation-points. 

“ Yes, a baby!’’ his uncle respond- 
ed, with weighty emphasis on each 
syllable. 

“ A live one*?” 

The question was incredulous, and 
Mr. Ainsworth answered touchily. 

“ Of course. You don’t suppose 
it’s a dead one; do you?” 

But Baby John settled that ques- 
tion promptly. Roused by Bumper’s 
explanatory bark and by the heavy 
voice of Mr. Ainsworth, he stirred 
drowsily, half opened his right eye 
and rubbed his fists across his buttony 
little nose. Then he opened both eyes 
61 


Bumper and Baby John 


wide, stretched his mouth to its ut- 
most limit and let forth a resounding 
roar. 

For the next few minutes, Mr. 
Ainsworth and his nephew could have 
been seen speaking to each other. 
Then Baby John’s breath failed, and 
Lawrance’s voice could be heard 
again. 

“ Where did he come from*?” he 
asked as, side by side with his uncle, 
he peered down at the baby face. 

“ How should I know? I didn’t or- 
der him,” Mr. Ainsworth answered, 
half in wrath, half in amusement. 

“ Perhaps the dog brought him.” 

“ Then he can carry him off again. 
I don’t want the youngster for any- 
thing. ’ ’ 

“ No.” The boy bent down on one 
knee to inspect the baby more closely, 
while Bumper, his back bristling, 
came a step or two nearer. “No, Un- 
62 


Bumper and Baby John 


cle Larry, I shouldn’t really think 
you would. He isn’t what you’d call 
pretty.” 

Baby John stared up into the face 
so near his own. Then his lip rolled 
over and, turning, he stretched two 
pink hands upward imploringly to 
Mr. Ainsworth. 

“ Pa-pa, turn!” he sobbed. 

Mr. Ainsworth’s ruddy face lost 
something of its color. He drew back 
a step, and tried to efface himself be- 
hind his nephew. 

Lawrance chuckled over the scene 
which he felt sure was to follow. Un- 
like his uncle, he had beheld babies 
before and had even manipulated 
them upon occasion. 

“ Most likely he wants you to pick 
him up in your arms,” he responded 
unfeelingly. 

Baby John lifted his voice in as- 
sent. 


63 


Bumper and Baby John 


4 i Pa-pa ! Pa-pa ! Pa-pa ! 9 9 he im- 
plored. 

Mr. Ainsworth found it necessary 
to retreat to the farther side of the 
veranda. 

“Pick him up, yourself,” he or- 
dered his nephew. 

“All right. Come up here, young- 
ster.” 

But Baby John was of another 
mind. He had a distinct choice be- 
tween his temporary hosts. Lithe as 
a little fish, he wriggled out of the 
boy’s arms, kicked viciously at him 
and then stretched out his own arms 
anew to Mr. Ainsworth. Then, for 
the space of another five minutes, Mr. 
Ainsworth and Lawrance were forced 
to converse in dumb show, while Bum- 
per withdrew himself to the ground 
and gave his whole care to a long-neg- 
lected flea. For the time being, he 
felt that Baby John was quite capable 
64 


Bumper and Baby John 


of holding the general attention fo- 
cused upon himself. Accordingly, he 
allowed himself to take a well-earned 
holiday. 

“ Call Halker,” Mr. Ainsworth 
said at length, when he could make 
himself heard above the din. 

Mrs. Halker came, running. 

“ I thought I heard a baby cry,” 
she explained, as she pounded along 
the veranda at Lawrance’s heels; 
“ but I supposed it was just some of 
your monkey-shines, and I didn’t pay 
much attention . 9 9 Then she bent over 
the weeping Baby John. “Oh, the 
poor lamb ! ’ ’ she added. 

At the new voice, the poor lamb 
straightway turned to the vocal like- 
ness of a peacock on parade. Mr. 
Ainsworth drew in his breath through 
his shut teeth. 

“ There he goes again ! What shall 
we do with him, Halker?” 

65 


Bumper and Baby John 


For her only answer, Mrs. Halker 
bent down and swept the baby up into 
her motherly arms. 

“ Poor itty sing! Where did he 
turn Pom?” she crooned, dropping 
into the vernacular which comes so 
naturally to the tongue of her who has 
borne children, and to her alone. 

Baby John’s right hand descended 
smartly upon the bridge of her nose ; 
his left hand buried itself in her hair. 
Then both hands turned appealingly 
to Mr. Ainsworth. 

With his fists plunged deep in 
his trouser pockets, Lawrance sur- 
veyed the scene with a certain aloof- 
ness. 

“ Might as well take him, Uncle 
Larry. If I know anything at all 
about red hair, you’ve got to give in, 
and you might as well do it graceful- 
ly,” he advised. Then he cupped his 
hand at the back of his ear. “ What 
66 


Bumper and Baby John 


were you saying, Mrs. Halker^” he 
shouted. 

Mrs. Halker’s answer came in 
short, explosive phrases, timed to the 
breaths of Baby J ohn. 

“ Once— at a circus— I heard some 
—bagpipes.— They was— awful; but 
they— wasn’t— nothing— to this.” 

Still holding the child in her arms, 
she sat down in a veranda chair and 
sought to compose the kicking little 
heels. The next moment, she sprang 
up in terror. 

1 6 Land ! What ’s that ? ’ ’ she cried. 

Bumper, meanwhile, had lost inter- 
est in his flea and, on noiseless paws, 
had mounted the steps again. He 
could see no reason why it should 
shock the nerves of Mrs. Halker to 
find, of a sudden, his great, blunt muz- 
zle pressed against her cheek. Most 
people took his friendly overtures 
more quietly. 


67 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ Oh, that’s only Bumper,” Law- 
rance reassured her. 

“ How do you know?” she asked 
rather irrelevantly. 

“ Because his collar says so.” 

Mrs. Halker’s eyes roved from the 
red head on her arm to the brown 
head at her knee. 

“ Bid they come together?” she 
queried slowly. 

“ Yes. They appear to hunt in 
pairs.” 

“ Who brought them?” 

“ Nobody knows.” 

“ Where did they come from?” 

“ Nobody knows.” 

“ What are you going to do with 
them?” 

For the space of a second, young 
Lawrance’s eyes rested on his uncle. 
Then, for the third time, he made an- 
swer,— 

“ Nobody knows.” 

68 


Bumper and Baby John 


Abruptly his uncle wheeled himself 
about. 

“ I do know. I shall send him to an 
orphan asylum till his people turn 
up.” 

“ There aint no asylum nearer than 
Burlington,” Mrs. Halker interpo- 
lated. 

Mr. Ainsworth jerked off his spec- 
tacles, jerked his spectacles into their 
case and jerked the case into his 
pocket. 

“ Then I’ll send him to the poor- 
house,” he said stormily. 

“ To-night?” Mrs. Halker asked 
reproachfully, while she smoothed 
down the pink calico frock. 

“ No; to-morrow, of course. Stick 
him into bed somewhere, and give us 
our supper.” 

“Yes, sir. Did— did he happen to 
bring a nightgown with him?” she 
asked gravely. 


69 


Bumper and Baby John 


Mr. Ainsworth again wheeled about 
sharply. 

“ No. Put him into one of yours, 
and hurry up about it. Lawrance is 
half starved.” 

She rose obediently. 

“ Yes, sir. Ill be as quick as I 
can.” 

When she departed, she left a trail 
of shrieks behind her, and her absence 
was a short one. The same trail of 
shrieks heralded her approach, and 
presently she appeared around the 
corner of the house with Bumper at 
her heels and Baby John in her arms. 
Bumper’s eyes wore a look of anxiety. 
Baby J ohn wore a blue flannel night- 
gown cut to the portly dimensions of 
Mrs. Halker. 

At the sight of Mr. Ainsworth, the 
shrieks ceased, and two huge flannel 
sleeves flapped vaguely in the direc- 
tion of his arms. 


70 


“AT THE SIGHT OF MR. AINSWORTH THE SHRIEKS 
CEASED.” 


71 







Bumper and Baby John 


44 Pa-pa!” Baby John begged im- 
ploringly. 

44 He does want you to take him,” 
Mrs. Halker explained triumphantly. 
“ I thought that was it.” 

44 But I don’t want him.” 

44 Just to quiet him a bit, sir. May- 
be he’d drop to sleep, if you was to 
take him.” 

4 4 But I told you to put him to bed. ’ J 

44 Yes; but he won’t go.” 

44 Of course he ’ll go, if you put 
him.” 

Mrs. Halker felt that it was time 
she asserted herself. 

44 Try it yourself, sir, and see if it’s 
so easy, ” she answered a little shortly. 

Mr. Ainsworth quailed. He had 
heard that tone before now, and he 
had learned to recognize its meaning. 

44 Me? I? Certainly not, Halker. 
He will be happy with you.” 

4 4 He aint, then. He wants you. ’ ’ 
73 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ But it is time for supper,” he 
protested feebly. 

Then Mrs. Halker delivered her 
final blow. 

“And how am I going to get sup- 
per, I’d like to know, with this child 
shrieking every minute in my arms? 
If you want your supper put on the 
table, you’ll have to hold him, while I 
do it. Sit down in that chair, while 
I put him in your lap. There. Now 
put your other arm so. No! His 
knees bent down, not up. Sakes and 
soul! To see you, one would think 
you never were a baby, yourself, or 
you’d remember better how it felt. 
Now hold him as tight as you can 
without pinching him and maybe, if 
you sit real still, he’ll drop to sleep.” 

She walked away with Lawrance 
behind her. Mrs. Halker went 
straight to the kitchen ; but Lawrance 
tarried at the corner of the house. 
74 


Bumper and Baby John 


Now and then he peeped around the 
corner, to see his uncle sitting as if 
petrified, while his face expressed 
every variety of indignant protest 
and of anxiety. Mysterious itchings 
came into his back, strange cramps 
assailed his legs; but Baby John’s 
sobs were coming at longer and longer 
intervals, and he dared not move. 
Then the blue flannel bundle was con- 
vulsed with one final, mighty sob, a 
blue flannel sleeve rubbed slowly down 
Mr. Ainsworth’s cheek and, yielding 
to some mechanism hidden within its 
folds, clung with a vigorous grasp to 
Mr. Ainsworth’s whiskers. The red 
head nestled into the hollow of his 
arm, and two teary eyes looked up 
into his keen ones. 

“ Pitty pa-pa!” Baby John said 
sleepily. 


75 


CHAPTER FOUR 



T EARLY dawn and on the 


points of his toes, Mr. Law- 
rance Ainsworth went sneaking ont 
of his own room and out of the house. 

Not even an optimist could have 
called the night a restful one. Mr. 
Ainsworth was no optimist, and he 
frankly admitted to himself that the 
night was the longest he had ever 
spent. Baby John, who apparently 
had surrendered his whole heart to 
his grim-faced, whiskery host, had ob- 
stinately refused to be parted from 
him. Again and again Mrs. Halker 
had borne him away, screaming and 
kicking muffled little kicks inside his 
long blue swaddling-clothes. Again 
and again she had been forced to 


76 


Bumper and Baby John 


bring him back. The last time, he 
had escaped from her vigilance and 
come back upon his own account and 
upon all fours, to the detriment of his 
trailing nightgown which he had im- 
paled on the handle of the coal-hod as 
he passed by. The clatter of the fall- 
ing coal had been too late to warn 
Mrs. Halker. She could only follow 
him as he scuttled along like a great 
blue spider, straight to the armchair 
in the library, where he lifted himself 
upright, smutty and triumphant, and 
cast himself rapturously upon Mr. 
Ainsworth’s dangling foot. It was 
then that Mrs. Halker stood stock- 
still in amazement at the words that 
followed. 

“ We may as well give it up, Hal- 
ker. Let the little fellow stay. It’s 
only for one night, anyway.” 

And Baby John, left a victor in the 
field, fell to exploring the waste-paper 
77 


Bumper and Baby John 

basket so industriously that, within 
fifteen minutes, the carpet looked as 
if it had been left out in a Dakota bliz- 
zard. 

At bedtime, history repeated itself. 
The battle lasted for an hour ; but the 
result was foreordained from the be- 
ginning. Baby John was tucked up 
in the decorous bed of Mr. Lawrance 
Ainsworth, where he fell asleep as 
soon as his red head touched the pil- 
low. He waked again, as Mr. Ains- 
worth stealthily crept in beside him, 
and one flannel arm twined itself 
tightly around his companion’s 
throat. Then once more Baby John 
composed himself to sleep ; but there 
was no sleep for Mr. Lawrance Ains- 
worth. Worse even than Baby John, 
Bumper had insisted upon coming to 
bed, too. At first he had clambered 
up and stretched himself out at full 
length across the foot of the bed, 
78 


Bumper and Baby John 


where he lay, a huge and heavy bolster 
of flesh which prevented Mr. Ains- 
worth from opening the hinges in his 
own knees. At last he yielded to sun- 
dry furtive kicks and to whispered 
conversation which was not entirely 
cordial. The windows jarred with 
the weight of his descending body. 
Then Bumper betook himself to the 
floor under the head of the bed, and 
Mr. Ainsworth’s hopes of rest arose. 

They fell again speedily, however, 
for Bumper was by no means what is 
termed a good sleeper. His restless- 
ness demanded frequent changes of 
position, and, whenever he rose to 
turn over, the bed rose with him. 
What was worse, he snored and, worst 
of all, Baby J ohn snored also, and the 
two snores differed materially in 
rhythm and in key. 

The east was still faintly gray 
when Mr. Ainsworth rose and crept 
79 


Bumper and Baby John 


out of the room, carrying his clothes 
in his arms. He drew a long sigh of 
satisfaction, as the duet grew faint 
upon his ears. 

It was midday when Mr. Ains- 
worth drew up Yellow Dobbin in 
front of the village store. His eyes 
were heavy with sleepiness, and some- 
thing akin to desperation was written 
upon his face. For four mortal hours, 
he had been driving along the high- 
roads and by-roads, searching in vain 
for the owners of a mongrel dog of 
surpassing intelligence and of a pink 
calico baby of surprising strength of 
character. A man born to country 
life would have had better judgment, 
would have begun, not ended, his wan- 
dering at the village store. 

He found the chronic loafers wag- 
ging their tongues with more than 
usual eagerness and, even while he 
was fastening Yellow Dobbin to the 
80 


Bumper and Baby John 


much-gnawed hitching-post, stray 
bits of their talk floated to his ears. 

“ I tell you, ’twas a turrible thing. ” 
“Awful !” 

“No wonder he took the first train 
back to New York.” 

“Just think how he must have felt, 
cornin’ down here of an errand, and 
goin’ back to find his house burnt 
down, an ’ his dog an ’ baby burnt up ! ” 
Mr. Ainsworth made no effort to 
fathom the law which regulated the 
prepositions of the speaker. Instead 
of that, he asked abruptly,— 

“ What is it you’re talking about V 9 
His tone was sharper than he real- 
ized, and the man cast a wary glance 
over his shoulder. 

“ Oh, just a little matter of local 
gossip,” he answered, in a malicious 
quotation of an unguarded speech 
which Mr. Ainsworth had once been 
betrayed into making. 

81 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ What about ?” Mr. Ainsworth 
asked, with the petulance which too 
often follows a sleepless night. 

Indolently the man turned to face 
him. 

“You was interested ?” he in- 
quired blandly. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Maybe you owned the house ?” 

“ What house ?” 

“ The one that was burnt up.” 

“ I didn’t know that any house had 
been burned up.” 

There was a pause. Then the man 
replied deliberately,— 

“ Well, they was.” 

“ When?” 

“ Yest’day noon.” 

“ Where?” 

“ In the hollow. ” 

“ Whose house?” 

“ It use’ to be Marlin Paine’s; but 
he’d sold it to another man.” 

82 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ Who gets the insurance ?” a by- 
stander interpolated. 

“ Who knows ’twas insured ?” 

“Who was the man that bought 
it?” Mr. Ainsworth inquired impa- 
tiently. 

“ Man from New York. I don’t 
know his name. ’ ’ 

4 4 Brown,” some one struck in ab- 
ruptly. “ J ohn Brown was the name 
on his boxes. They’re over to the 
depot now, ready to be shipped back, 
and they’re all marked plain, ‘ John 
Brown, New York City.’ ” 

“ Then he saved everything but the 
house?” 

All along the row, the heads fell to 
wagging in sorrowful negation. 

. “ I should think he didn’t,” one 
voice said disconsolately. 

“ ’Twas an awful visitation,” ob- 
served another. 

And a third voice added,— 

6 83 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ First fire, and then sudden death ! 
It’s enough to make a man shrink. ” 

Mr. Ainsworth’s eyes rested upon 
the speaker who, to judge from the 
size of his coat, had already begun the 
process of shrinkage. 

6 6 Is the man dead ? ” he asked. 

“ No. They went back to New 
York, last night.” 

u They?” 

“ Him and his wife.” 

“ Then who did die?” 

There was another disconsolate 
pause. Then some one answered sol- 
emnly,— 

“ His dog and his little baby.” 

In spite of himself, Mr. Ainsworth 
drew a sigh of satisfaction that at last 
he had laid hold upon the precious 
nubbin of truth. 

“ But how do you know they are 
dead?” he inquired, smiling a little in 
his relief. 


84 


Bumper and Baby John 


Five bearded faces turned upon 
him a stony gaze of rebuke for his flip- 
pancy. 

“ Because they was burnt up.” 

“Are you sure they were burned?” 

“ They couldn’t have helped it. 
They were locked up inside, when the 
house took.” 

“ But they did help it.” 

“ How do you know?” 

“ Because they are alive now.” 

“ How do you know that ?” 

“ Because I have seen them,” Mr. 
Ainsworth replied testily, for he pre- 
ferred to be the one who asked, not 
answered, questions. 

“ Where?” 

“At my house.” 

Then the shrinking man delivered 
himself of a question, and the ques- 
tion was a poser. 

“ How do you know it was his dog 
and his little baby?” 

85 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ Because— because— why, because 
they can’t belong to anybody else.” 

“ How do you figure that out ?” the 
shrinking man persisted. 

“ I have been trying, all the morn- 
ing, to find an owner for them.” 

“ Been up the river road?” 

“No.” 

“ Well, Jim Morse has got a dog 
and a baby.” 

“And so has Solomon Thomas.” 

“And so-” 

Ruthlessly Mr. Ainsworth inter- 
rupted the fugue of babies. 

“ What sort of a baby was it that 
the man lost?” 

“Why, a little baby.” 

“ Yes ; but what did it look like ?” 

“ I never seen it.” 

“ Well, what sort of a dog was it?” 

This time, to his surprise, the in- 
formation was more definite. 

86 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ Big and brown. Looked sort of 
good-natured. ’ ’ 

“ I always feel sorry when a good 
dog meets his end,” observed the 
shrinking man sadly. 

“ But I tell you he hasn’t met his 
end. I’ve got him,” Mr. Ainsworth 
reminded him sharply. “ What’s 
more, I don’t want to keep him. 
Where ’s the man ? ’ ’ 

“ Gone back to New York.” 

“ When?” 

“ Five o’clock, last night.” 

“ What for?” 

“ Nothing to stay for. His house 
was burnt down, an’ he didn’t have 
any folks here, an’ he couldn’t so 
much as have the consolation of giv- 
ing the baby a funeral. There was 
nothing to keep him, so he just ups 
an ’ goes back to where he come f rom. ” 

“ Where was that?” 

“ New York.” 


87 


Bumper and Baby John 


Mr. Ainsworth reflected that John 
Brown , New York , was scarcely a suf- 
ficiently definite form of address. 

“ New York is a largish city,” he 
observed dryly. “ Didn’t he give any 
street and number?” 

“ No.” 

“ But his goods are to be shipped 
back, you said. How would they reach 
him?” 

The rural mind works on simple 
lines. 

“ Maybe he was lottin’ on callin’ at 
the depot for them, himself.” 

Impatiently Mr. Ainsworth twitch- 
ed off his driving-gloves. 

“ Where’s the man who sold him 
the house?” 

“ Gone.” 

“ Gone where?” 

“ He left for Arizona, last week.” 

“ Who knows where he can be 
found?” 


88 


Bumper and Baby John 


There was a long pause. It was 
not easy to. choose between loyalty to 
a fellow townsman and love of gossip ; 
but at last gossip had its way, and 
some one answered tersely,— 

“ That’s what the sheriff wants to 
know.” 

To the manifest disappointment of 
the group, Mr. Ainsworth made no ef- 
fort to probe the situation. 

“ Who was the lawyer who drew up 
the deeds?” 

“ Squire Morris, up to Overton.” 

Mr. Ainsworth vouchsafed no an- 
swer. Instead, he turned on his heel 
and strode away in the direction of 
the post-office door where hung the 
blue bell of the telephone-station. The 
group looked after him with inter- 
ested faces ; then they backed up 
against the fence to await his return. 
When he reappeared, they hailed him 
eagerly. 


89 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ Did you ketch him over the tele- 
phone ?” 

“ ]STo. Mr. Ainsworth’s tone was 
curt. 

“ Gone out of town?” 

44 Yes.” 

“ Where to?” 

“ He sailed for Liverpool, this 
noon.” 

“ I wan’ ter know.” 

There was a long silence, while Mr. 
Ainsworth released Yellow Dobbin 
from the post, stepped into his trap 
and gathered up the lines. Then the 
shrinking man made a step forward. 

“ What was you calculating to do 
with that little baby?” he asked. 

The whip came out of its socket 
with a jerk. 

“ Ship it back to its parents by the 
first train.” 

“ Y— es,” the speaker drew out the 
word doubtfully; “ but how air you 
going to find its payrents?” 

90 


CHAPTER FIVE 


U PON his return home, Mr. Ains- 
worth drove directly to the 
barn. As he passed the region of the 
back door, he was horrified to see a 
brief pink calico frock flapping to 
and fro in the summer breeze. To his 
mind, it appeared to be a signal of 
domestication, a proof that Baby 
John had resolved that he would be 
legally adopted into that well-ordered 
home. Gloomily Mr. Ainsworth 
tossed the reins to his man and 
turned his face in the direction of the 
house. 

A shriek of rapture from the back 
veranda heralded his appearing. 

“ Pa-pa, turn! Oh-h, pa-pa, turn 
back! ” 


91 


Bumper and Baby John 


He raised his eyes in time to see 
Baby J ohn, swathed in a bath-towel, 
rise up and run to meet him. Then 
a second shriek rent the air, for Baby 
John, heedless of his footsteps, went 
sprawling over Bumper, who lay in his 
pathway. Baby John’s red head was 
dangerously near the edge of the ve- 
randa, and instinctively Mr. Ains- 
worth sprang forward to prevent a 
second catastrophe. The next in- 
stant, he was chagrined to find him- 
self clasping Baby J ohn upside down 
in his arms, while Baby John, crow- 
ing with happiness, vainly sought to 
return his head and his heels to their 
more orthodox relative positions. 

“ He’s been good as a kitten, all 
the while you were gone,” Mrs. Hal- 
ker explained resignedly. “ Now 
I suppose there won’t be anything 
right with him, as long as he knows 
you’re here.” 


Bumper and Baby John 


Mr. Ainsworth glanced up to the 
shady corner where she sat sewing, 
surrounded by fragments of calico 
and of outing flannel. 

“ What are you doing? ” he asked 
sharply. 

6 6 Can’t you turn that child over 
endwise? ” she demanded. “I’m 
making him some clothes. ’ ’ 

“ What for? ” 

“ Because he hasn’t got but one 
dress to his back, and it isn’t decent to 
have the poor child rigged out in a 
Turkish towel,” she answered short- 
ly, while she sheared mysterious cor- 
ners and curves out of the cloth in her 
lap. 

“ But I’m not going to keep him, 
Halker.” 

Deliberately she raised her eyes to 
his face. 

“Oh. Aintyou?” 

“ Certainly not.” 

93 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ What are you going to do with 
him, then?” 

“ Send him— why, send him to 
some sort of an asylum.” 

“ Oh.” Mrs. Halker deftly con- 
verted two pear-shaped fragments 
into two baggy little sleeves. 

Experience had taught Mr. Ains- 
worth that, when Mrs. Halker took 
refuge in monosyllables, it was in 
token of disapproval. Experience had 
also taught him that outspoken dis- 
approval was preferable to that which 
was merely implied. The one took 
the form of words few and forcible; 
the other assailed his domestic con- 
cerns and took the guise of dough- 
nuts and of unbleached sheets. 

“ It is really the only thing I can 
do,” he murmured in self -justifica- 
tion, while he ducked his head side- 
wise to escape Baby John’s assault 
upon his hat. 


94 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ I don’t know any asylums that 
take in dogs as big as Bumper,” she 
said calmly. 

“ Naturally, I shall keep Bumper.” 

“ And send away the baby?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You’ll kill him, then.” 

“ Which?” 

“ The dog, of course. He loves that 
baby for all he is worth. I’m not so 
sure about the baby, though he does 
have a cunning way with him. Just 
look at him now! Quiet as a mouse 
and sweet as sugar ! ’ ’ 

Mr. Ainsworth made a futile at- 
tempt to look at the baby head cud- 
dled against his stiff collar. Not be- 
ing equipped with eyes mounted upon 
tentacles, he was forced to abandon 
the attempt. 

“ Is he likely to go to sleep up 
there ? ’.’ he inquired anxiously. “ I ’d 
a little rather he didn’t, you know, be- 
95 


Bumper and Baby John 

cause he cries so, when one wakes him 

up.” 

“ Then what do you wake him up 
for?” Mrs. Halker demanded. 

“ Oh, I really can’t have him begin 
to take naps on my neck,” Mr. Ains- 
worth objected hurriedly. 

“ Have you found out anything 
about him?” Mrs. Halker inquired, as 
she threaded her needle. 

“ Yes. That is, I have found out 
where he came from.” 

“ Then why can’t you take him 
back there?” 

Mr. Ainsworth, baby and all, sat 
down heavily in a veranda chair. 

“ Because there isn’t anything to 
take him back to.” 

“ Look out! You’ll tunk his head 
on the chair.” 

The warning came too late. The 
air resounded with the wails of Baby 
J ohn, until Bumper, an anxious light 
96 
























4 


















/ 













f 


Bumper and Baby John 


in his eyes, rose up and came forward 
to investigate the situation. By de- 
grees the wails stilled themselves. 
Then abruptly Baby John stuck up 
his head. 

“Kiss!” he ordered. 

Mr. Ainsworth looked inquiringly 
across at Mrs. Halker. 

“ He wants you to kiss him,” she 
interpreted. 

Mr. Ainsworth faltered; then he 
gave a gingerly peck in the direction 
of Baby John’s nose. 

Baby John’s hand disentangled it- 
self from the fringe of the towel, and 
rubbed the spot where his red crown 
had collided with the chair. 

“ Kiss!” he ordered once more. 

The interpreter spoke again. 

“ He wants you to kiss the place 
where he bumped him.” 

Mr. Ainsworth made another gin- 
gerly peck. Then he stifled an in- 
^ 99 


L.of C. 


Bumper and Baby John 


clination to sneeze, for the soft red 
hair had tickled his nose. 

The third order followed. 

“ Kiss Bumper!” 

“ I will not!” Mr. Ainsworth re- 
sponded mutinously, for Bumper’s 
countenance showed that he had been 
removing a mole from the lawn. 

Two little heels flew skyward, and 
then descended full upon Mr. Ains- 
worth’s rheumatic knee. 

“ Kiss Bumper!” 

Completely cowed, Mr. Ainsworth 
planted a kiss in the air above Bump- 
er ’s ears. Then he straightened up 
with a jerk. 

“Halker, can you have the boy 
ready to go, to-morrow?” 

Mrs. Halker ’s face turned grim. 

“ It aint much to have him ready, 
when there’s nothing to do but iron 
out one calico dress and button it 
down the back. But do you want to 
100 


Bumper and Baby John 


know what I think about it ? I think, 
when an inscrutable Providence sees 
fit to put a loving little soul on your 
steps, it’s downright disrespectful to 
that Providence to go packing that 
little soul off: to an asylum, without 
giving his rightful owners a chance 
to call and get him.” 

“ You think—?” , 

“ That it’s plain humanity to let 
him stay.” 

Mr. Ainsworth ventured one more 
feeble remonstrance. 

“ But how can we keep him, when 
we don’t even know his name 9” 

Mrs. Halker drew her thumb-nail 
sharply down an opened seam. 

“ I should think you might be able 
to give him another that would an- 
swer for the present,” she observed 
dryly. 

However, it was young Lawrance 
who finally named him, and the nam- 

101 


Bumper and Baby John 


ing did not occur until more than a 
week later. 

“ You say you want a label for that 
kid , 9 ’ he suggested, as he and his uncle 
entered the hall to find Baby John in- 
vestigating Mr. Ainsworth ’s tall 
trouting boots. “ Why don’t you call 
him Bildad, the Shuhite?” 

And Bildad accordingly he became. 

The week, meanwhile, had been 
fraught with events, and while Baby 
John had been slowly worming his 
way into the bull’s-eye of the family 
circle, Bumper had shown equal in- 
dustry in fighting his way up to a 
commanding position at the top of the 
family heap. There were four dogs 
at Riverdale Farm, two of them set- 
ters, the others a collie and a Boston 
terrier. All four were thoroughbreds 
of high degree ; all four, while nomi- 
nally they lived at the barn, in reality 
had free range in the house. Bumper 
102 


Bumper and Baby John 


stopped all that. The setters yielded 
easily; but Bumper met with unex- 
pected opposition on the part of the 
Boston terrier. Nevertheless, he suc- 
ceeded in overcoming that opposition, 
one night in the library, although his 
success was impeded by Mr. Ains- 
worth and the tongs. Bumper’s pleas- 
ure in his success, too, was impaired 
by the fact that young Lawrance fol- 
lowed the terrier back to the barn, 
while he himself was shut into the 
closet in the hall, among the boots and 
the raincoats. 

To young Lawrance, Bumper had 
given his allegiance as absolutely as 
Baby John had yielded up his heart 
to young Lawrance ’s uncle. All the 
spare time Bumper could take from 
the care of Baby John, he was to be 
found lying pressed against the boy’s 
toes, or trudging about close at his 
heels. It was only natural that he 
103 


Bumper and Baby John 

should have taken it as a personal af- 
front, one day, when he lumbered up 
the stairs in search of his idol, only 
to find that idol, book in hand, 
stretched out at full length on the sofa 
in the up-stairs hall, with the Boston 
terrier’s head on his chest and the 
three other dogs snoozing on the floor 
beside him. It was only the third 
day after Bumper’s coming, and he 
was hurt by Lawrance’s failure to in- 
vite him, a comparative stranger, to 
join the party. He paused for a mo- 
ment to contemplate the peaceful 
scene. Then the hall echoed with the 
clamorous shouts of the larger of the 
setters, as he raced and tumbled 
down the stairs with Bumper baying 
at his heels. Thirty hours later, 
Bumper found himself sitting among 
the boots in the closet. The boots 
were in no wise to blame for Bum- 
per’s imprisonment. Nevertheless, 
104 


Bumper and Baby John 


he took it out on them with a zealous 
fury. 

The next day, Bumper began a new 
campaign. Baby John, on the library 
floor, was contentedly dismembering 
the long strings of paper dolls pro- 
vided by Mrs. Halker, and Bumper 
was free to follow his own devices. 
His devices led him to the veranda in 
time to see young Lawrance starting 
off for a walk in company with the 
Boston terrier. The Boston terrier 
wore a strip of clean linen around his 
neck and over one ear, and Bumper 
felt that he looked an unseemly com- 
panion for an outing along the high- 
road. After some slight show of re- 
luctance, the terrier decided to re- 
main at home, and it was Bumper 
who fell into step at the boy’s side. 

“ I don’t know what we’re going to 
do about it all,” the man at the barn 
reported to Mr. Ainsworth, at length. 

105 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ Them dogs is just getting peaked 
for lack of a little petting; but that 
great cur that belongs to the baby 
makes it so hot for them that they 
dassent say their souls are their own.” 

Mr. Ainsworth sighed. He admit- 
ted to himself that the cases, dog and 
human, were parallel. He too was 
reaching the point where he dared not 
say his soul was his own. 

“ What shall we do. about it?” he 
asked, with the faint hope that the 
man might suggest a way of escape 
for them all. 

“ Pizen him,” the man said tersely. 

Mr. Ainsworth sighed again. It 
was manifestly impossible to poison 
the baby. 

At times, too, he was not sure that 
he wished to make way with the child. 
There were hours when he felt a lazy 
enjoyment in watching the intent 
baby face and the busy baby fingers 
106 


Bumper and Baby John 


on the floor at his feet. He gained 
a certain pleasure in seeing the 
sturdy wee figure plodding about 
the room, sitting down abruptly now 
and then, as he collided with a rug 
or a pile of books. On one or two 
occasions, Mr. Ainsworth-had tiptoed 
to the door, peered out, shut and 
locked the door noiselessly and then, 
returning to the armchair, had picked 
up Baby John and cuddled the red 
head against the buttons of his waist- 
coat. He had listened to the steps 
and voices outside with the same sense 
of guilty pleasure he had felt when, 
as a boy, he had investigated the con- 
tents of his mother’s jam-closet. 
However, Baby John would tell no 
tales, and Mr. Ainsworth was quite 
oblivious of the boyish eyes peering 
in at the window and taking full note 
of all the little hugs and pat-a-cakings 
that went on inside the room. 

107 


Bumper and Baby John 


And then there were other hours. 
These were the hours when Mr. Ains- 
worth longed to abolish the child com- 
pletely. They occurred when Baby 
John assisted himself to arise by 
means of the table-cover, and brought 
cover, inkstand, books, lamp and a 
jar of Mr. Ainsworth’s choicest to- 
bacco to the floor in an indiscriminate 
heap. Baby John, plastered with to- 
bacco dust and ink, thought that the 
operation was exquisitely funny ; but 
Mr. Ainsworth’s sense of humor 
failed him utterly. It failed him 
again, the next day, when, too late, he 
found that Baby John had neglected 
to mention that he had used the arm- 
chair for a larder, and that Mrs. 
Halker had been too generous in her 
provision of bread and molasses. In 
fact, Mr. Ainsworth objected stren- 
uously to the whole idea of bread 
and molasses. To his mind, Baby 
108 


Bumper and Baby John 


John should have subsisted en- 
tirely upon shredded-wheat biscuit 
eaten dry over a newspaper, and 
upon hot beef tea administered 
through a tube. Baby John’s table 
manners were rudimentary, and his 
new guardian longed acutely for the 
day when food should be given by 
hypodermic injections. 

Moreover, bedtime came with un- 
failing regularity, and bedtime al- 
ways marked a crisis. In vain Mrs. 
Halker had exhausted her list of 
stratagems. If Baby John fell asleep 
in Mr. Ainsworth’s bed and waked up 
in Mrs. Halker ’s room, the house 
echoed with his shouts, while Bumper 
mingled his voice in the remonstrance. 
The awakening usually occurred soon 
after midnight. It lasted for a vary- 
ing period; but Baby John’s lungs 
were always more enduring than Mr. 
Ainsworth’s nerves, and the contests 
109 


Bumper and Baby John 


had but one ending. The door of the 
front room jerked open, a short com- 
mand issued from the crack, and then 
Mrs. Halker, candle in hand, came 
padding along the hall and handed a 
bundle of flannel through the half- 
open door. A moment later, Baby 
John heaved a contented sigh, wrig- 
gled himself into a little ball and fell 
asleep with his right hand clasped 
about Mr. Ainsworth’s thumb. 

Matters had been going on like this 
for some days, when Lawrance burst 
into the library, one noon. 

“ Found him at last !” he said jubi- 
lantly. 

His uncle looked up from his news- 
paper. 

“ Found what?” 

“ Bildad’s daddy.” 

“ Where?” 

“ 9999 Poe Avenue, Fordham, Hew 
York.” 


110 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ Who told you?” 

“ Bumper.” 

“ What do you mean, Lawrance?” 

The boy spoke more quietly. 

“We were down by the ruins, 
Bumper and I, a little while ago, and 
Bumper saw a squirrel. He chased 
it to a clump of bushes. Then he 
started to dig it out and, first flop, he 
turned up this envelope. Look ! ’ ’ 

Mr. Ainsworth did look. Then he 
reached for a telegraph-blank and a 
pencil. Baby J ohn, on the floor, was 
playing with a Noah’s ark which had 
mysteriously appeared from the trap, 
the day before. Now he held up a 
spotted rhinoceros. 

“ See! Pa-pa! Bumper!” he re- 
marked. 6 i Pitty Bumper ! ’ ’ 

With the pencil in his hand, Mr. 
Ainsworth bent over to inspect the 
wild beast. 

“ Yes, Bildad, nice Bumper,” he 
111 


Bumper and Baby John 


assented. “Now find a moo-cow for 
pa-pa.’ ’ Then he gripped the tele- 
graph-blank resolutely. 

To John Brown , 9999 Poe Avenue, 

Fordham, New York. 

Your baby is here . Come and get 
him . 

{Signed) Lawrance Ainsworth, 
Riverdale Farm . 

“ Tell John to harness Dobbin and 
take this to the village,” he ordered 
briefly. 

Pour hours later, a messenger 
brought a yellow envelope to River- 
dale Farm. Mr. Ainsworth tore it 
open with unwonted clumsiness. Then 
he gave a sigh of relief, as he read the 
few words it contained. 

To Lawrance Ainsworth, Riverdale 

Farm. 

No such person living at the ad- 
dress you gave. 


112 


CHAPTER SIX 


“ TOHN,” Wife said slowlv, one 

I night; “ what if we go back 
home*?” 

“ I don’t know what you mean,” 
Father J ohn answered dully, without 
raising his head from the paper 
spread out on the table before him. 

“ What if we go back to Scot- 
land?” she repeated. 

“ That’s no home to us.” 

“ It was to our fathers, though, and 
you were born there,” she replied 
with some spirit. 

Father John’s eyes wandered on 
down the long list of Help Wanted. 

“ What’s the use?” he asked. 

“ You must get out of this city in 
some way or other. The doctor said 
113 


Bumper and Baby John 


that another year of it would kill 
you.” 

“ Let it,” he responded morosely. 

“ John!” 

“ I mean it. There’s no place for 
me in the world. Nothing but bad 
luck comes my way, and there’s no 
use in trying to deny it.” 

Wife bit her under lip for a mo- 
ment. 

“ Things may take a turn,” she 
suggested then. 

‘ 4 What if they do? They can’t 
give back Baby John.” 

“ No,” she assented drearily. 

“And they can’t give us back our 
money. Not that the money counts 
beside Baby John; but at least it 
could take us out of this hole.” He 
glanced angrily about the mean little 
tenement. “ When I think of that 
Fordham cottage, and of all that has 
happened since we lived there, it 
114 


Bumper and Baby John 


seems like another world, or else as 
if I were in a horrible dream.’’ 

Wife rose and stood with her arm 
resting across his shoulders. 

‘ ‘ I know, J ohn. And don ’t you re- 
member how, when we both had been 
off to work, Baby John and Bumper 
always heard our step on the walk and 
ran to the window to watch for us ?” 

“ Don’t!” he said fiercely. 

The tears were sliding down Wife’s 
cheeks, by this time. 

“And how he used to make us kiss 
Bumper?” she suggested again. 

And again he said fiercely,— 

“ Don’t!” 

There was a long silence. Then 
Wife spoke once more. 

“John, I am in earnest about our 
going to Scotland. Of course, it won’t 
be home to us. I never lived there. 
You were only two years old, when 
your father came over. But my 
8 115 


Bumper and Baby John 


father’s people are all farmers. They 
could find you work, and I know they 
would. There is nothing to keep us 
here. Baby John is gone ; Bumper is 
gone. There’s no work for you and, 
even if there were, you’re not strong 
enough now to do it. It is time we 
moved on to a new home. Perhaps 
there, where everything is strange, we 
may not miss Baby John quite so 
much.” 

“ I don’t think it would make much 
difference,” Father John said brok- 
enly. “ He was growing cunning, 
every day of his life, and then he 
was taken away, all in a minute. 
Wife, what had we done to deserve 
it?” 

Resolutely she took the paper from 
under his hand, and turned to the 
shipping news. 

“ To-day is the third of Septem- 
ber,” she said. “ Could we sail, on 
116 


Bumper and Baby John 


the twelfth? That would give time 
for us to send a letter ahead of us.” 

“ We’ve no money for the pas- 
sage.” 

u We will go in the steerage, and 
the furniture would sell for some- 
thing.” 

“ Not enough.” 

Crossing the room, she opened a 
bureau-drawer and took out the few 
poor little trinkets he had given her 
before her marriage. 

“ These would help,” she said 
quietly. “ If the real need came, I 
would sell my ring, too. You and I 
don’t need a wedding-ring to look at, 
John.” 

A week later, Father John came 
home to find her with her hat on. 

“ I am going up to the cottage, ” she 
explained briefly. “ I want to see it 
once more. The nasturtium-bed must 
be in blossom, and perhaps the new 
117 


Bumper and Baby John 


people will let me get a few seeds from 
it. Do you remember how Baby John 
lay on the walk and watched you, 
while you were digging it up, and 
how Bumper persisted in lying in the 
bed? We must have driven him out 
more than a hundred times.’ * 

The nasturtium-patch was a carpet 
of orange and yellow and scarlet blos- 
soms. With the young girl whom she 
had found alone in the house, Wife 
bent over them lovingly, breaking off 
the dead leaves as tenderly as if they 
had covered the last resting-place of 
Baby J ohn. In • all truth, many a 
memory of the child did lie buried 
there. 

The girl, meanwhile, was busily 
picking a huge bunch of blossoms 
which she gave into Wife’s keeping. 
Then together the two women fell to 
hunting the ripened seeds. 

118 


Bumper and Baby John 


“And you used to live here?” she 
asked. 

“ Yes. We moved away, last June.” 

The girl’s hand stopped in mid-air. 

“Was your name Mrs. John 
Brown?” 

Wife was too busy with the flowers 
to resent the use of the past tense 
which somehow implied that she had 
ceased to exist. 

“ Yes,” she answered listlessly. 

“ Did you ever get your telegram?” 

“ What telegram?” 

“ The one that came here for you.” 

“ When?” Wife’s tone was 
sharper. 

“ I don’t remember just when it 
was,” the girl said musingly. “ It was 
sometime early in J uly, I know. ’ ’ 

“ What was it?” 

“We didn’t open it. Mother just 
told the boy that no such person lived 
here.” 


119 


Bumper and Baby John 


The flowers dropped from Wife’s 
relaxed fingers. 

“ Oh, I must see that telegram!” 
she wailed. “ It might have told us 
something that would have helped us 
to live.” 

The words were scarcely coherent ; 
but the girl understood their mean- 
ing. 

“ Can’t you give me your address,” 
she said kindly; “ the one where you 
are living now? When my father 
comes home, he may know some way 
of finding out where the telegram 
came from.” 

That same afternoon, another crisis 
w r as shaping itself at Riverdale Farm. 

All summer long, an editor friend 
had been urging Mr. Ainsworth to 
write for him an essay upon Farming 
as a Fine Art ; and, all summer long, 
Mr. Ainsworth had been putting off 
the day of toil. That morning at 
120 


Bumper and Baby John 


breakfast, however, the inspiration 
had come upon him. As he had left 
the table, he had ordered Mrs. Halker 
to array herself and Baby John for 
a drive which should last till noon; 
then he had shut himself up in his 
library in company with his inkstand. 

Ink and ideas both had flowed so 
freely that Mr. Ainsworth had been 
astonished to hear the call to lunch. 
Half dazed by his morning of hard, 
concentrated work, he had piled his 
manuscript on the table and hurried 
away to join his nephew in the dining- 
room. Once there, his nephew rude- 
ly dispelled his ideals of Farming as 
a Fine Art, by reporting the serious 
illness of one of the best cows he had 
ever owned. After such tidings as 
that, lunch was bound to be a comfort- 
less and hasty meal. Mr. Ainsworth 
swallowed the last of his coffee, and 
then vanished in the direction of the 
121 


Bumper and Baby John 


barn, quite oblivious of the fact that 
he had left the library door inviting- 
ly ajar. 

An hour later, Baby John, fresh 
from his nap, came stubbing along 
the hall and paused at the library 
door. 

“ Pa-pa-pa-pa ?” he queried coax- 
ingly. 

There was no answer. Baby John 
repeated his query. 

“ Pa-pa?” 

Then he pushed the door wide open. 

“ Turn in, Bumper,” he said gra- 
ciously, and, side by side, the two 
comrades entered the room. 

First of all, Baby J ohn made a com- 
plete tour of the apartment, to assure 
himself that Mr. Ainsworth was not 
lurking unseen in some corner. Then, 
returning to the armchair, he pain- 
fully mounted to its capacious depths, 
grunting and stretching and rolling 
122 


Bumper and Baby John 


backward a time or two in the process. 
For a while, he was content to sit 
quiet and play peek-a-boo with Bump- 
er over the broad plush arms. Just 
as that amusement was beginning to 
lose interest for them both, Baby 
John’s eyes lighted with a new idea. 
Scrambling upright in the chair, he 
reached the table and laid violent 
hands upon the manuscript. Then, 
clasping it in his arms, he sat down 
again with a vigorous chug. 

“ See, Bumper! See! Bitty! 
Bumper, see ! 7 7 

Bumper made a pretended snap at 
the single sheet of paper waved be- 
fore his nose, and Baby John giggled 
gleefully. The sheet waved again and, 
this time, Bumper’s teeth shut over 
the larger part of it. Baby John’s 
laugh rang out anew, and he gripped 
the paper sturdily. Bumper let go, 
bit at it for a second time, worried 
123 


Bumper and Baby John 

it and then, lifting his lips daintily, 
let his teeth meet and slowly tear the 
page to ribbons. Baby John threw the 
ruin to the floor and began on a sec- 
ond sheet, then on a third. Bumper’s 
spirits rose, as page after page was 
submitted to him for inspection. For 
the hour, he felt himself a puppy 
again, and he fell to frisking clumsily 
about, tipping over the shovel and 
poker, and sending the contents of 
the waste-paper basket half across the 
room. Now and then he barked ex- 
plosively; but the remainder of the 
household was at the bedside of the 
dying cow, and there was no one to 
hear or to heed. At last he suddenly 
discovered that he was a middle-aged 
dog, after all, and he sat himself down 
on his haunches to rest, though he 
continued to watch Baby John with 
gleaming eyes and to laugh at him 
with a lolling tongue. 

321 



“BUMPER FELT HIMSELF A PUPPY AGAIN.” 

125 





Bumper and Baby John 

But Baby John had no intention of 
being tired, so long as those crackling 
papers were still in his lap. Bumper 
had failed him; but the scattered 
fragments on the rug had suggested a 
new plan to his mind, and with busy 
fingers he fell to tearing the remain- 
ing pages to scraps which would have 
been useful only for a paper chase. 

“ Bildad!” 

Baby John, somewhere in the re- 
cesses of his anatomy, owned a con- 
science. He also owned a memory, 
and that memory assured him that 
torn-up paper and spankings pos- 
sessed some hidden bond of connec- 
tion. He looked up hastily to see Mr. 
Ainsworth’s tired face in the door- 
way. He cocked his head on one side, 
and determined to brazen out the sit- 
uation. 

“ Pitty pa-pa !” he cooed blandly. 

Mr. Ainsworth glanced from the 
127 


Bumper and Baby John 


empty spot on the table to the over- 
full spots on the floor. Then he took 
a step forward. 

“ Uncle Larry !” 

He turned sharply. 

“ What?” 

“ Here’s a telegram.” 

Mr. Ainsworth jerked it open and 
read the few words inside,— 

The present address of John Brown 
is 1234 Avenue X , New York City. 

“ Lawrance!” he called. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Tell the messenger to wait for the 
reply.” 

Lawrance rushed out of the room, 
and Mr. Ainsworth stalked over the 
rustling fragments of his essay, seized 
the telegraph-blanks that always lay 
ready on his table and, without a 
glance at Baby John, dashed off his 
message,— 


128 


Bumper and Baby John 


To J ohn Brown , 1234 Avenue X , New 
York City . 

You must take your confounded 
baby out of this house before to-mor- 
row night. 

{Signed) L . Ainstvorth. 

A vindictive blot punctuated the 
close of the document. Then Mr. 
Ainsworth lifted up his voice and 
called for Mrs. Halker. 


129 


CHAPTER SEVEN 



ROM the front steps, Bumper 


JL saw them coming. He lifted 
his drowsy head from his paws and 
tilted up his ears inquiringly at sight 
of the dusty wayfarers turning in at 
the drive. Then he rose to his feet by 
the simple method of sliding his fore- 
paws down for a couple of steps and 
bringing his weight to bear upon 
them, while the rest of his anatomy 
unfolded itself. His vigorous yawn 
ended in a u Wow-ow?” of inquiry, 
and he shambled off down the drive. 

4 4 Bumper ! ’ ’ Father J ohn said 
softly. 

The sound that followed was nei- 
ther bark nor howl. It was the crying 
of a faithful old heart almost ready 


130 


Bumper and Baby John 


to break from sheer happiness. 
Straight as an arrow’s flight, Bumper 
flew at F ather J ohn, reared himself to 
the full of his great height and then 
plunged forward to rest his paws on 
Father John’s shoulders and lick 
away and away again the salty drops 
on Father John’s cheeks. 

Father John and Wife had come 
in hot haste, for the telegraph-oper- 
ator was a literal-minded man and, 
in forwarding the telegram, he had 
carefully included the erased word. 
Accordingly, Father John and Wife 
had travelled half the night, and had 
spent the other half sitting on the ex- 
treme edge of a baggage-truck at the 
junction, waiting until the morning 
train should be made up. A sleep- 
less night or two mattered not to 
them, now that Baby John was alive. 
A few dollars of debt counted for 
nothing, when Baby John must be 
9 - 131 


Bumper and Baby John 


rescued from the arms of an ogre who 
called him “ confounded ” and signed 
himself L. Ainsworth. All night long, 
they had talked of nothing else, won- 
dering if he had had proper food, 
wondering whether the pink calico 
frock had survived the ravages of the 
summer, wondering, in short, whether 
or not he had been kindly treated. 

With their hearts thumping hard 
against the bottoms of their throats, 
they drew near the veranda. Then, 
as they started to mount the steps, 
Wife gave a little choking sob. Baby 
John was before her, pink and hearty 
and happy, his red curls brushed until 
they shone like burnished copper, and 
his chubby body clothed in an em- 
broidered frock the like of which she 
had never seen before, outside a shop 
window. From one fat hand, a doll 
dangled by its flaxen hair; the other 
hand was buried in the iron-gray 
132 


Bumper and Baby John 


whiskers of the man who held him. 

“ Baby John!” Wife cried out. 

Baby John always turned coy at 
the approach of Strangers. Now he 
buried his face in the waistcoat of the 
man ; then, turning his head slightly, 
he brought one eye out of eclipse and 
peeped up at the excited face before 
him. 

The color left Mr. Ainsworth’s 
cheeks. Gathering Baby John into 
the curve of his arm, he rose to what 
seemed to Wife an unconscionable 
height. 

“ I beg your pardon?” he observed 
majestically. 

Wife faltered, as she looked up at 
the threatening figure on the step 
above her. 

“ We— we’ve come for the baby,” 
she said nervously. 

Mr. Ainsworth backed off a step or 
two. 


133 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ Well, you won’t get him,” he said 
pugnaciously. 

“ Why not?” Father John de- 
manded. 

“ Because I’m saving him for his 
parents.” 

“ But we are his parents.” 

Mr. Ainsworth sat down again and 
shifted Baby J ohn back to his knee. 

“ Impossible,” he said testily. 

Father John took a step forward. 

“ I should like to know why.” 

“ Because his real parents can’t get 
here till four o’clock,” Mr. Ainsworth 
answered triumphantly. 

Father John turned vaguely to- 
wards Wife. 

“ But— but we are here,” he mut- 
tered. 

Wife came to his support. 

“Are you Mr. Ainsworth?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Mr. L. Ainsworth?” 

134 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ Yes.’’ 

“ Then that is our baby.” 

“ Prove it!” Mr. Ainsworth de- 
manded, with a pugnacity born of an 
absolutely sleepless night. 

Wife fumbled for a moment in the 
folds of her limp blouse. Then she 
drew out a sheet of yellow paper, 
worn thin on the folds. 

“ There is your telegram,” she said 
quietly. 

As a matter of mere form, Mr. 
Ainsworth glanced at the telegram. 
The restored word struck him like a 
blow, and his face grew even more 
forbidding. 

“ That counts for nothing. There’s 
no telling how you came by it. Bil- 
dad ’s real parents — ” 

“Bildad?” 

“ Yes, I said Bildad,” Mr. Ains- 
worth repeated stonily. “ Bildad ’s 
real parents could not reach here till 
135 


Bumper and Baby John 


afternoon. I looked up the trains to 
make sure. Still, if you insist, we 
can leave it to the baby.’’ 

Wife bit her lip, and her eyes 
blazed with sudden fury. Then she 
controlled herself. Drawing near, she 
held out her hands invitingly. 

“ Come, Baby John, come to mam- 
ma,”, she urged. 

Baby J ohn looked at her, cocked up 
his red head and sat very still, while 
by degrees the dimples came into his 
cheeks and his lips spread into the be- 
ginnings of a smile. Wife stood wait- 
ing, scarcely daring to breathe. Then 
there came a thin gurgle of laughter, 
and Baby John ducked his head into 
the hollow of Mr. Ainsworth’s arm. 

“ Baby John* Oh, Baby John, 
come to mamma! ” Wife implored 
him. 

Stooping, she tried to take him into 
her arms; but Babv John drew back, 
136 

























































* 





































































































\ 













Bumper and Baby John 


launched a terrified kick in her direc- 
tion, clasped his arms around Mr. 
Ainsworth’s neck and, his face 
pressed against Mr. Ainsworth’s left 
ear, let off a succession of shrieks 
which nearly wrecked the ear-drums 
of his protector. 

“ There, you see!” he said tri- 
umphantly. “ The child never saw 
you before. You are a pair of im- 
posters after blackmail. You’d bet- 
ter take yourselves off, before I have 
you arrested.” 

“ But he is my baby,” Wife wailed. 
“ Give him to me. He is mine, mine, 
our Baby John.” 

“ Yes, he acts like it.” 

“ But look at Bumper,” Father 
John interposed. “ He knows us.” 

“ So do I know you. But I’m not 
talking about the dog.” 

“ He has twelve teeth,” Wife said 
faintly. 


139 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ Yes, twelve, plus nineteen. He 
had lost one of his front teeth, when 
he came to me.” 

Wife looked mystified. 

“ Baby John lost a tooth?” 

“No; Bumper had.” 

“But I said Baby John had 
twelve.” 

With a remorseless and triumphant 
finger, Mr. Ainsworth pried Baby 
John’s mouth open. 

“ He has sixteen. You can see for 
yourself.” 

There was a pause. Then Father 
John whispered in Wife’s ear, and 
once more she began fumbling in her 
blouse. This time, she drew out a 
worn effigy of Mary and her Lamb. 

“ See, Baby John! Pitty doddy,” 
she said. 

With the gracious dignity of a little 
king, Baby John bent forward, took 
the effigy and then cast it far from 
140 


Bumper and Baby John 


him. Bumper went lumbering after 
it, caught it and brought it back to 
the foot of the steps where he lay 
down and proceeded to add it to the 
rest of his breakfast. Baby John, 
meanwhile, was dangling the flaxen- 
haired doll before Mr. Ainsworth’s 
eyes. 

“ Pa-pa! Pitty dolly! Pitty pa- 
pa!” he babbled discursively. 

Suddenly Wife was seized with an 
inspiration. 

“ He wore a pink calico dress and 
cut-over stockings, when he came 
here, ’ ’ she burst out, in the shrill ac- 
cent of despair; “ and his inside pet- 
ticoat had a darn a finger long in the 
front breadth.” 

Then, all at once, Mr. Ainsworth 
quailed. It seemed to him that the 
ground was slipping from beneath 
his feet. He sought the nearest sup- 
port. 


Bumper and Baby John 


“ Halker!” he called, and the win- 
dows throbbed an echo to his power- 
ful voice. 

Once again Mrs. Halker came, run- 
ning, just as she had run in that sum- 
mer twilight, two full months before. 

“ Halker,” Mr. Ainsworth said 
sternly; “ these people say Bildad is 
their child. I don’t believe it. The 
woman is trying to tell what clothes 
the child wore, when he came to us. 
I don’t know what she is talking 
about. You listen to her and, if she 
makes a single mistake, call John and 
have him take them straight to the 
lock-up. Now, go ahead.” 

Once more Wife began her recital 
of colors and fabrics, of patches and 
of darns. Mr. Ainsworth, meanwhile, 
sat with his eyes glued to Mrs. Halk- 
er ’s face and he saw her give a slight 
nod at each item of the report. 

142 


Bumper and Baby John 


u Yes,” she said reluctantly at the 
end; u them’s it.” 

There was a long pause, when it 
seemed as if no one of the party 
breathed quite freely. Even Bumper 
stopped chewing at Mary’s head and 
turned his blunt nose upward, as 
though he were waiting for the 
next word. Then slowly, reluctant- 
ly, Mr. Ainsworth arose. He stood 
for a moment with his face buried 
in Baby John’s stiff little white 
frock; then he held out the child to 
Wife. 

“ Take him,” he said briefly. 
“ He’s yours.” 

Only Baby John’s sobbing breaths 
broke the silence that followed. The 
silence lasted for a long, long time. 
Then Father John beckoned to his 
wife, and they turned to go away. 

The crunching of the gravel be- 
neath their heels aroused Mr. Ains- 
143 


Bumper and Baby John 


worth from his apathy. He sprang 
forward. 

“ Where are you going?’’ he 
shouted. 

Father John turned around in as- 
tonishment. 

“ Why, back to New York.” 

“ What for?” 

“ Because we are going to sail for 
Scotland, to-morrow.” 

Regardless of his years, Mr. Ains- 
worth took the steps at a bound. 

41 ‘ To Scotland?” 

“ Yes.” 

“And take Bildad?” 

“ Bil— ? Oh, yes, of course.” 

“ The— ” Mr. Ainsworth controlled 
himself with a mighty effort. “ What 
are you going to Scotland for, I’d 
like to know?” he demanded a little 
more quietly. 

“To get work.” 

“ What kind of work?” 

144 


Bumper and Baby John 


In her turn, Wife faced about. She 
spoke with a certain dignity. 

“ My husband is not strong enough 
to work in a city. The doctor told him 
that his only chance was to go to the 
country and work on a farm. We 
came here to live, and our house 
burned up. Then we went back to 
New York, and he has done his best 
to find something to do ; but it was of 
no use. Now we are going to our peo- 
ple in Scotland. They are farmers, 
and they will be sure to find work for 
11 ™/’ 

Mr. Ainsworth sat down on the 
lower step. All at once he felt a lit- 
tle sickness creeping over him, and 
his legs were strangely unsteady. It 
passed as quickly as it came, however, 
and, when he looked up, his eyes were 
shining. 

“ If that is all you want, you 
needn’t go to Scotland,” he said 
145 


Bumper and Baby John 


shortly. “ Before the week is out, I 
shall need a new man to help around 
the barn. Never mind the wages now ; 
they’ll be all right. Halker, take 
these people around to the kitchen 
and cook them something hot for 
breakfast.” Then he held out his 
arms. “ Come, Bildad, come to 
pa-pa,” he added coaxingly. 

Baby John nearly always hyphen- 
ated the word into Pa-pa. 

And, with Baby John riding high 
on his shoulder and stretching out his 
pink hands to Bumper, who trudged 
away at the heels of Father John, Mr. 
Ainsworth went up the steps and van- 
ished inside the house. 


THE END. 


146 




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